


Sleepless night

by dark_sequoia



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, John Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_sequoia/pseuds/dark_sequoia
Summary: It's the next morning, John is left vulnerable without his left arm. Mayhem is there to hold him together but one dog can only do so much. Winona shows up in John's hour of need.(This work contains sensitive material some may find disturbing and is highlighted by asterisks and a warning from yours truly.)(Mayhem's dialogue starts with ###.)(Apologies for any misspelling. It's my first time.)





	Sleepless night

The old digital clock on the beside table told John it was half past four in the morning. He'd been staring at the ceiling for the last six hours, unable to sleep. Memories from his past reared their ugly heads to plague his mind constantly. Faces and names and demon's cruel laughter echoed in his ears, refusing to let him rest. He threw back the covers that had somehow managed to tangle themselves around his legs and sat up on the edge of the bed. With his remaining hand, he dragged it down his face and looked towards the window. In the distance, colour began to bleed faintly across the sky. A clear sign of the sun's soon rising. He glanced at the mass of black fur at the foot of the double bed and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

John stood up and groaned as he stretched, hearing his joints protest with quiet pops. He left his room to pad down the hall to the bathroom. His next stop was the kitchen, he flicked on the kettle without a glance. John fished the milk out of the fridge, giving it an experimental sniff and shrugged. It would last him the morning and he'd open the new one around lunch.

This was barely any semblance of a routine. Stanley, having known what a schedule was, had told him so in the first month of working together. John vaguely recalled telling him to shove it and promptly passing out. His friend said his 'no good' brother had been a terrible influence on him and John didn't have the heart to disagree. Nor did he have the strength to.

He spooned coffee into a mug and stirred in water once the kettle had boiled. Adding his usual amount of sugar(*), John leaned against the counter and watched the sun start to slowly make its way past the horizon. There were rare moments when he would think of one particular memory that stuck out from the rest. Their hands interlocked, an arm around his waist pulling him flush against a sturdy body, the music a slow and steady pace. 

A high pitched whine shook John from his thoughts and alerted him to Mayhem's entrance into the kitchen.  
"Good morning."  
# Morning.  
Came the german shepherds yawn as he trotted to his water bowl. During his thirty two years living in Gravity Falls, John had picked up a few unusual traits. One of them was understanding animals and their speech pattern. It also helped that Winona taught him a few things as well.  
John switched on the radio, sifting through the static and found a decent signal. Unfortunately it was the morning news already.  
"...nd it's been forty years since the disappearance of---"  
He changed to a classical station he regularly listened to.  
### Where is your other arm?  
Mayhem asked and John drinked his coffee.  
"Stanford's nitpicking it."  
### Why'd you give it to him?  
"Not sure."  
He tilted his head and looked at the calender sitting on the kitchen counter. Today was circled in a red marker, something written inside the square.  
"Appointment at eleven."  
### With Dr. Armstrong?  
"Yep."  
John sighed. The unease began to fester at the pit of his stomach, curdling ingested coffee.

"You didn't have to come with me, you know."  
John said as they walked down the dirt road with Mayhem trotting along by his side.  
### I am aware. You need the company. Being alone with your thoughts isn't--SQUIRREL!  
Mayhem barked, taking off like a bullet towards a fat grey squirrel in the middle of the road. John couldn't help but laugh as the german sheperd chased the rodent up the nearest tree.  
### Anyway, as I was saying, being alone with your thoughts for too long isn't healthy.  
"You're starting to sound like Stanford."  
### I will interpret that when I finally meet him.  
"Fat chance of that happening."  
John looked up and stopped dead in his tracks. Mayhem had noticed it too as he took a defensive stance. The warm smile directed at them was anything but friendly.  
"Ignore it."  
He warned Mayhem, resisting the urge to wither under the weight of that unyielding gaze. John strode past it and refused to look back until a hand closed around his remaining arm. The german sheperd snarled and bared his teeth at the illusion that decided to ignore him in favour of tugging John closer. The creature wearing his brother's face began to twist and soon the hand pressing bruises into his skin sprouted another finger. The whites of the thing's eyes began to yellow and John found the strength to tear himself away. The illusion morphed back to Derrick with a childish pout.  
"Let's go, Mayhem."  
The german sheperd was hesitant on turning his back on the creature but decided to listen to the human and soon followed after John.  
"He won't protect you forever!"  
The illusion called after them and vanished from sight.

John was shaken from yet another interaction with that thing in the woods but he couldn't let it show. Mayhem matched his pace when they made it to town, tongue lolling out of his mouth happily. The townsfolk acknowledged their presence with a vague wave or nod, even a "hmph" from a passing old lady. They weren't exactly aimed at John, more at the german sheperd. He checked his watch, nodding at the positions of the hands. They had enough time to get Dr. Armstrong's office, it wouldn't take long at all.

The unease had increased as John sat outside in the reception, Mayhem laying down patiently beside his feet. The worn leather chair was uncomfortable to say the least but after thirty years of sitting in one of them, John had grown used to it. What he hadn't though, was the intense "flight or fight" he still felt waiting for his name to be called.  
### You'll be fine.  
Murmured the german sheperd, lifting his head from his paws briefly to regard John with a reassuring look.  
"I hate this feeling."  
John muttered under his breath, his curled fist in his jacket pocket starting to ache.  
### I know. It's only an hour, we can go get those pastries of yours after your session.  
"That does sound like a plan."  
### Aren't I full of good ideas?  
"You're also full of sass."  
### True.  
"Johnathan Carter?"  
### That's your cue.  
"Let's get this over with."

^*^*^

John felt like a weight hadn't left his shoulders when he left Dr. Armstrong's office. Mayhem could tell from his slumped shoulders and got to his paws, his leash between his jaws as he followed the human out.  
### Let's go to the bakery. I can smell the steak pastries from here.  
The german sheperd suggested as he took the lead and trotted along the street. John accompanied him, the distant yet alluring scent of fresh pastries somewhat lifting his spirits as they headed towards their favourite place in town.

"Two steak, two chicken."

The pair sat down on the closest bench and tore into their pastries(well, one did, anyway). John was halfway through his first chicken pastry when Mayhem was finished, licking up any leftover gravy and crumbs he'd missed. 

"Have you read the papers?"  
John's ears honed in on a passing conversation.  
"Yes, I can't believe it's been forty years since the kid's disappearance. Usually the families stop searching after five years."  
"The Harper family must be distraught with grief. I wonder how the brothers took it."  
"Last thing I heard they were throwing themselves into work. Everyone has their way of dealing with grief."  
John waited until the two disappeared around the corner before tucking the uneaten pastries into his pocket and got to his feet.  
"Come on, Mayhem. Let's go."  
### Okay.

John's hair was plastered to his scalp by the time they made it to the Mystery Shack. The sky hard darkened with rain and unleashed a heavy downpour. Mayhem stood on the porch and shook himself violently, sending water in every direction. John knocked on the door and waited. It was Dipper who answered.  
"Oh hey John. Grunkle Stan's in the kitchen."  
"Thanks Dipper. No shaking indoors, Mayhem."  
### I will try not to.  
"'Mayhem'?"  
"Oh, you guys haven't met. This is Mayhem. He keeps me company. This is Dipper."  
"Did I hear a dog?"  
Cried Mabel from inside and Dipper winced.  
"Oh boy."  
John and Mayhem decided to step inside before Mabel had the opportunity to tackle them. The pines threw her arms around the german sheperd.  
"I love dogs! What's your name?"  
"His name is Mayhem."  
"Mayhem! What an adorable name!"  
"You said Stan was in the kitchen?"  
John asked and headed down the hall with Mayhem close at his heel. Mabel tried to follow but Waddles caught her attention and Dipper went back to reading.  
### The twin is very energetic.  
"Mabel is like that pretty much the whole time."  
John answered. 

Stan was lounging in one of the kitchen chairs sipping on a questionably clean mug of coffee.  
"You look like a wet dog."  
### That would be me.  
"Thanks, Stan."  
John said and took a chair as Mayhem sat down beneath the table.  
"So, it's been forty years--"  
"Can we not talk about it? It's all I've heard today."  
He cut in with an agitated sigh. Stan just raised an eyebrow at him.  
"All right. You getting antsy?"  
"It's been forty years, I don't have my arm and I had another session with Armstrong. You /could/ say I'm 'antsy'."  
"How did it go?"  
"Spectacularly awful."  
A noise caught Mayhem's attention and he got up to investigate. John watched him leave with a frown. The shack was quiet apart from Mabel's quiet giggling.  
"You've been having trouble sleeping lately."  
It was more of a statement than a question.  
"Yep."  
Mayhem returned to the kitchen with Stanford following shortly behind.  
"Is this yours?"  
He asked curtly and John nodded.  
"Any chance I can have my arm back?"  
### This is Stanley?  
"Stanford."  
John corrected him, earning a frown from both Stans.  
"I can understand his speech pattern. Waddles too. Something I picked up from living in Gravity Falls."  
"Right."  
### It's a pleasure to meet you.  
Mayhem yipped, sitting down and panting with a smile. If Stan and John had blinked, they would've missed the fleeting smile on Stanford's face.  
"Follow me to the basement."

"How long have you been using that prosthetic for?"  
Asked Stanford as they entered the rackety lift, John shrugged in reply.  
"I started building one with spare parts roughly twenty five years ago. At least three didn't pass the final testing phase. The one I wear now is the first successful prosthetic."  
He managed, eyes widening at the mere sight of the dark maroon door. His heart quickened and his throat tightened. John was somewhat relieved that Stanford didn't seem to notice or care about his sudden discomfort. It didn't take long to reach the basement and as the two stepped out, John could see the prosthetic lying on the worktop in several pieces.  
"I first checked what was causing the overheating as you had mentioned yesterday so I deconstructed it. Several key components were beyond repair and difficult to find so I experimented with spare parts I had lying around," Stanford was already explaining and John found himself nodding at appropriate moments. He was focused on his arm that he had worked so hard to make it work, all the time he spent, just lying there in pieces.  
"How did it connect to your shoulder?"  
Stanford asked, stepping into his line of sight. John blinked and processed the question before he unzipped his jacket. His jumper followed and John was left standing in his t-shirt. He pulled up his left sleeve, revealing the scarred tissue and shoddy design of the connector. Stanford's eyes widened in alarm, zeroing in on what remained of his shoulder.  
"This is highly unsafe. You said twenty five years."  
"I had to design the connector myself. Stan helped with attaching it."  
"Simply by looking at it, it's structurally unstable. How did you--?"  
John winced at the memory.  
"It was messy. That's all you need to know. It plays up sometimes."  
"This needs to be removed, it's deteriorating."  
"It's fine, Stanford. I came to get my arm back, not to be criticised."  
"This isn't criticism, it's basic safety, John."  
John set his jaw and bit his tongue to stop a torrent that would kickstart a full blown argument.  
"What happened--?"  
"It doesn't matter."  
He interjected, grabbing both his jumper and jacket.  
"Just a drop in the ocean compared to you."  
"John,"  
"I still have the blueprints for the original but it won't do me much good."  
John murmured, his shirt riding up as he pulled on his jumper, a sliver of heavily scarred skin showing.  
"Sorry for wasting your time."  
"John, wait--"  
But he was already in the lift and pressing the button.

*^*^*^*(it begins)

The bathroom was bright, too bright, as he braced himself. John lifted the knife, catching the light on the blade. There was no more use for the connector since his arm was in pieces. He'd removed what parts he could but now it was for the main event, so to speak. This was an easy solution. Pain was temporary, he would get over it. He would have to. 

The first cut was always accompanied by the worst pain but after the sixth, it faded to a numbing sting. Blood pooled heavily in the sink, colouring the porcelain red.  
### John?  
There was scratching of claws against the wood as Mayhem called his name.  
"Go away!"  
He managed around clenched teeth.  
### You're in pain!  
"It doesn't matter!"  
The house was silent after his outburst. Mayhem fled, his claws clicking on the floorboards. He struggled to resume prying off the connector, the metal starting to give under his assault.

After what seemed like an eternity, the connector dropped into the bloodied sink with a "clunk". The knife soon followed as John lost his grip and his legs gave out from beneath him. He crashed to the tiled floor, his hand weakly pressed to his ruined bleeding shoulder.  
Everything grew dark.  
The bathroom door opened and behind it stood a woman around his age, if not younger. John lifted his head and whispered her name.

"Winona..."

**Author's Note:**

> And we end on another cliff hanger. Who is Winona and what really happened forty years ago?
> 
> (*) = Snippets of lore. John doesn't take sugar in his coffee. He does in tea, sometimes he changes it up with a spoonful of honey.
> 
> As for his arm, it was one of a kind, there were flaws and parts got broken as usual. No need for the connector.
> 
> Any thoughts and feedback would be appreciated. If you like it then let me know!


End file.
